Henchwench
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Harley Quinn realizes the Joker isn't paying her for her henching, and decides to go on strike.
1. Chapter 1

**Henchwench**

Harley Quinn sighed heavily, drumming her fingers against the handle of the shopping cart. She was bored of waiting in line. But the supermarket only had three cashiers working at midday, and Mr. J wanted his ice cream pretty desperately, so she didn't see any choice. Other than just stealing it, of course. But she broke the law so often in really big ways that occasionally it was nice to have a break and abide by them. To just be a normal person again. It was moments like these, however, that reminded her how tedious and awful it was being a normal person, and made her incredibly grateful to Mr. J for turning her into Harley Quinn. She didn't have to put up with waiting in lines, filing taxes, or working a boring job five days out of every week. Her job was constantly fun and entertaining, constantly new and exciting, and, of course, let her be with her beloved Joker. She missed him, even on little errands like this, and smiled fondly as she thought about him, and about how angry he would be if the ice cream melted before it got to him, on account of her having to wait in this line. But she doubted smuggling it into her shirt and holding it against her warm body would prevent it melting any quicker. It wouldn't be long, she assured herself. She just had to wait. She was good at waiting. She had had lots of practice with Mr. J. And in his case, the waiting always made the payoff a whole lotta fantastic. Images and memories began to pop into her head and she grinned. Maybe a little daydreaming would make the wait go faster…

She was startled out of her fantasizing by a low whistle as a guy joined the line behind her. "Hey, baby," he murmured, studying her. She wasn't wearing her Harley Quinn costume – she didn't when she went out in public, so as not to draw attention to herself. But she was wearing shorts and a tank top (it was a really hot day, hence Mr. J's desire for ice cream), and she bristled as she felt the man's eyes fixated on her bottom. He had no right to check out Mr. J's merchandise like that.

"You got a problem, buddy?" she demanded, turning to face him.

"I do now," he replied, grinning at her. "My problem is I can't seem to take my eyes off the sexy little piece of ass in front of me. You doing anything later, sweetheart?"

Harley sighed. Red was right – guys could be such creeps sometimes. She often thought Mr. J was the last gentleman left. This guy clearly thought himself quite the stud, and maybe to other women, looking nice was the only criteria. But not to Harley.

"Look, I'm really flattered and all," said Harley, sarcastically. "But I do have a boyfriend, so just keep your eyes to yourself, would ya?"

"Yeah, but he ain't here," retorted the guy. "And if I were him, I wouldn't let a hot little number like you outta my sight. I sure as hell wouldn't send her to go do errands. I'd just keep her on her back all day long."

"I can see why you're still single," she retorted. "Any gal involved with you would clearly need a lot of chiropractory. Anyway, sport, you ain't my type, so just lay off."

She turned back to face the line and suddenly felt his hand near her. She whirled around and seized his arm, pushing it back toward him. "Touch me and you're dead," she hissed. "I mean it, buster. This is my last warning."

He laughed. "Fiery little minx, ain't ya? Strong too, baby, I like that. You must work out, huh? Your body says you do. It also says it wants to have a little fun. C'mon, sugar, gimme a chance."

"You couldn't possibly give me the kinda fun I want," retorted Harley. "I doubt you even know what fun is. My boyfriend does, and he won't find this very funny if I tell him. And you don't want to see him when he's not amused, trust me."

"I ain't scared of him, sweetheart. I think I could probably take him," he retorted.

"Oh, I really don't think you could," she retorted. "Who do you think you are, Batman? Do you have any idea who my boyfriend is?"

"Don't tell me it's Batman?" he asked, surprised.

"Do I look like the kinda gal who would date a freak in a flying rodent costume?!" demanded Harley. "No, he's much better than Batman!"

"May I help you?" asked the cashier at that moment, for Harley had reached the front of the line.

She turned away from the guy and handed the carton of ice cream to the cashier, who rang it through. Harley then pulled out her debit card and stuck it into the machine, muttering to herself. She put in her pin number and waited.

"I'm sorry, miss, the card's been declined," said the cashier.

"What?" said Harley, puzzled. There should be plenty of money in her account – she rarely used it. It was easier just to steal most of what she wanted. And she was under the impression that all the salary she earned from the jobs she and Mr. J pulled went into that account. And they had done quite a few jobs lately.

She tried it again, with the same result. "Do you have another card?" asked the cashier.

"Um…lemme see," said Harley, looking around her purse. Her and Mr. J's joint account had a card, but she didn't remember the pin number. It was probably written down here somewhere though…

The guy behind her suddenly laughed. "Looks like you can't pay, sweetheart! Well, I know a way you can make a quick buck. I'll do this for you if you do a little something for me later, deal?"

He pinched her bottom, and Harley lost her temper. She suddenly whipped out her gun and fired six rounds into his face. "No means no, jerk!" she shrieked. Then she grabbed the ice cream and ran, amid the screams and cries and shouts as the people in the store panicked.

Harley raced for the exit, leaping over the security guards and landing in the parking lot. She jumped from car to car until she reached hers, avoiding the bullets the guards shot at her, then screeched off into the streets of Gotham, police cars following her.

"Tub of ice cream ain't worth this," she muttered to herself as she tried to lose the cars in the twisting streets. She crashed through a no-entry sign and revved up the car as the road began to climb, ending in an incomplete bridge. The police cars screeched to a halt, but Harley stepped on the gas and managed to jump the gap, landing on the other side of the bridge.

"Sayonara, suckers!" she cried as she drove out of sight, laughing. "Nah, ice cream wasn't worth all that, but Mr. J's face will be," she sighed, thinking dreamily of him all the way back to their hideout.


	2. Chapter 2

She skipped into the living room with a bowl of ice cream drizzled in chocolate syrup and placed it in front of the Joker, who had his eyes narrowed in concentration over a blueprint. "Got your ice cream, puddin'!" she said, beaming as she kissed his cheek.

He grunted. Harley's face fell a little – she had been expecting a more enthusiastic response, especially after all her hard work. But she shrugged, figuring he was just cranky because of the heat. He was dressed in his suit and everything, and sweat was pouring off him – he must be really warm. Really, really hot, and all that sweat was just so...hot. Maybe she could convince him to take his suit off...

"You'd better eat it before it melts, puddin'," she breathed, draping herself over him. "And it gets all wet and sticky. It'll get all wet and sticky in no time in this heat. Just like your Harley girl right now," she breathed, stroking back his hair from his damp brow and licking the sweat from his cheek.

"Get off, Harley!" he growled, shoving her away. "You think I'm not hot enough already without you clinging to me?!"

"You're always super hot to me, Mr. J," she murmured. "But if you're too warm, maybe you should take some of your clothes off. Or all of them, y'know, I wouldn't mind."

"I'm working, Harley," he growled. "I wear my work clothes when I work. Because I have standards."

"Because you're crazy," retorted Harley. "Do you think the Bat wears the batsuit when he's working at home?"

"Yes," replied Joker, firmly. "Because he has standards too."

"You saying I don't have standards?" demanded Harley.

"No. I'm saying you're not as professional as the Bat and me," he retorted. "And you ain't, Harley. You've never been a professional. You were a shrink who slept with her patient, remember?"

"You think I could forget, puddin'?" she murmured, beaming at him. "And I've never regretted it for a second," she added, kissing his cheek fondly again.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he retorted, grinning. "It's just true. A statement of fact. You ain't a professional. The only reason you're so dedicated to your current job is because you know it makes me happy when you do good. And you get rewarded too," he murmured, tilting her chin up to him.

"You wanna take a break from work, Mr. J?" breathed Harley, shutting her eyes. "Maybe take a ride on your Harley?"

"Nah, I'm busy, kid," he retorted, dropping his hand and returning his attention to the plans. "Go find something useful to do and quit bothering me, would ya?"

Harley sighed in disappointment and turned to leave. "Harley," he called. She turned and he held out the bowl of melted ice cream to her. "Get me some more ice cream. You can save what's in there for playtime later," he murmured, grinning.

"Oh…Mr. J!" she breathed, beaming at him. "With the chocolate sauce and everything…oh, it's gonna be so much fun!"

Her heart was light as she skipped back into the kitchen and made him another bowl of ice cream. She deposited it in front of him, kissed him, and then occupied herself with the housework, singing and humming to herself as she washed the dishes, folded the laundry, and did the vacuuming. It was when she was ironing his shirts that she suddenly remembered she had had a problem with her card earlier, and wondered if she should go to the bank to try and figure it out. Although after her performance at the supermarket, her common sense told her she might wanna lay low for a while. But maybe Mr. J might know why she was short of money. Maybe he had had a problem paying her or something. It couldn't hurt to ask him anyway.

She re-entered the living room, where she saw his collection of plans had spread all over the desk and onto the floor. "Like the look of this one, puddin'," she said, picking one up and studying it.

"Say Cheese and Die," said Joker, nodding at the one she was looking at. "A rather brilliant scheme if I do say so myself. Wire a series of exploding speeding cameras around Gotham. Go too fast and you get blown into tiny bits! Keeps crime down, while simultaneously keeping crime up!" he chuckled.

"You're such a clever guy, puddin'," she breathed, stroking his hair back and kissing his forehead. "I wonder if my smart man could help me with a little problem I've had today."

"Harley, if this is the beginning of another innuendo asking me for sex, I've told you, I'm working," he retorted.

"No, I'm talking about a real problem, Mr. J," she said. "That I had at the supermarket when I was buying your ice cream."

"_Buying _my ice cream?" he repeated, surprised. "Why didn't you just steal it? I feel kinda wrong eating it now that I know you paid for it fair and square."

"I didn't, in the end," she retorted. "My bank card didn't work. I guess I don't have any money in my account."

"Maybe you shouldn't spend it so extravagantly," he retorted.

"I don't," she snapped. "I don't spend it much at all. Plus there should be plenty in there after our last couple jobs. We must have hauled in about fifty grand, and even after paying the boys their share, there must have been some leftover. You got any idea why I ain't been paid, Mr. J?"

He looked at her. "You don't get paid, Harley," he replied.

"What?"

"You don't get paid," he repeated.

She stared at him. "Why not?" she asked. "I hench for you, I do as much work as the guys do – I should be entitled to a share in the loot, same as them."

"Well, you're not like the guys, Harley," he replied. "I mean, you live with me, so you don't pay rent, like they do. I provide you with a roof over your head, food, clothes, a lot more than you deserve, actually. What do you need money for?"

"That ain't the point, Mr. J," she retorted. "I do a job, so I expect to get paid for it. That's the way the world works. You don't get something for nothing. When I do work, I should be rewarded for it."

"You are rewarded, Harley," he replied. "Just in…other ways. Y'know. The boys don't have Mr. J warming up their engines at night. That's your payment, my scrumptious little cupcake."

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she slapped him across the face. "Mr. J!" she exclaimed, offended. "I ain't that kinda girl! I may be your girlfriend, but I'm still your employee, dammit, and I deserve the same salary as your other employees! I can't believe you've been cheating me all these years! I did those jobs in good faith, expecting a share of the take same as everyone else! You probably owe me millions! And you'd better pay up, Mr. J!"

"Or what?" he retorted.

She folded her arms across her chest. "Or I'll go on strike," she replied, firmly. "No more henching. Not until you give me what I deserve. And don't think I won't figure out exactly how much that is, Mr. J. I've kept track of every job we've ever done. I've got them all written down in my _Family Memories_ scrapbook, to look back on fondly when we've grown old together. I had no idea I'd ever need it for something like this. That the man I love would be taking advantage of me all these years, callously using my services with no intention of paying for them…oh, Mr. J!" she sobbed. "Why'd you do it, puddin'?!"

He stared at her in astonishment. "Pumpkin, this isn't something to get worked up over," he murmured. "It's not like I've cheated on you, or kicked you out, or tried to kill you…"

"No, it's worse than all that!" sobbed Harley. "You've been using me for slave labor! That ain't right! This is America, dammit, and slavery's been abolished for a long time now! I ain't gonna let you undo the hard work of Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King and all those brave men and women who fought for people's right to be free! You give me my rights, Mr. J, or I'm going on strike!"

"You can't go on strike," he snapped. "You ain't part of a union!"

"I can still strike!" she retorted. "And I will, if it's the only way I can get what you owe me! If that's the only way I can get you to see how valuable I actually am to you, and how I deserve to be paid!"

"You ain't valuable to me, you dumb blonde!" he shouted. "You're completely worthless, you always have been, and I ain't paying you a cent! So go do what you want, you stupid woman! I won't be blackmailed by the likes of you! I don't owe you nothing! You should be grateful for all the crap I've given you, grateful that I haven't shot you in the head by now, and not whining about how you want more! You're a selfish, greedy little brat, and I don't need you! So strike all you want, you useless waste of space! See if I care!"

He turned back to the blueprints. Harley stared at him in surprise and pain, but quickly grew angry. Her jaw tightened and she whirled from the room, hands clenched into fists. "You asked for it, Mr. J!" she shouted back. "I'm on strike from now on, y'hear me?! We'll see how long you last!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," muttered Joker, returning his attention to the plans and trying not think about the stupid brat. She had her tantrums, but she always got over them when he was involved. He would give her a night to be mad, maybe have a good cry, so that by tomorrow she would be her normal, bouncy, cheerful, devoted self again. That's what would happened, he assured himself. That's what always happened. This time wouldn't be any different.


	3. Chapter 3

It was different. Maybe it was because he had called her unprofessional earlier. He was right – she wasn't a professional, but maybe the insult had made her want to prove a point. Either way, when he came into their bedroom that evening, he found Harley already there, wearing her glasses and propped up against the pillows with sheets of paper spread over the bed, a book open in her lap, and eyes narrowed in concentration over a calculator. She punched some numbers in with one hand while scribbling notes down with a pencil in the other.

"You wanna stop being a nerd and go to bed?" he snapped. "I'm tired."

Harley glared at him through her glasses. "As your employee, Mr. J, I'm obligated to finish off these accounts so I can calculate how much you owe me and see that I receive my dues. So you can just deal with it."

He glared back at her and growled, but undressed and climbed into bed, rolling over and trying to ignore her scribbling. He was surprised when he heard the calculator and book suddenly clattering to the floor and Harley instantly clinging to him, covering him with kisses.

"You in the mood for a little playtime, Mr. J?" she breathed.

"Um…will I have to pay you for it?" he asked.

She stopped kissing him abruptly and sat up, offended. "What? No! I told you, I ain't that kinda girl! You just don't get it, do ya, Mr. J? In the role of your employee, you pay me a salary when I do the same work as your other employees! In the role of your girlfriend, all of the work I do is out of love, and I'm not expecting financial payment for it! Like the housework and the cooking and the incredibly fantastic and mind-blowing sex! But if you're just too thick to understand that then you don't deserve it anyway!"

And she picked up the book and calculator and started working again, muttering to herself as she punched in numbers.

"O…K," replied Joker, slowly. He shrugged. "Well, night then, Harl. See you in the morning."

She grunted and they were silent, the only noise being the clicking of the calculator and pages being turned. "Sure is hot tonight," commented Joker, casually.

"Yep," agreed Harley, keeping her eyes fixed on the paper.

"I could really use some ice cream, actually," he said, sitting up. "In the role of my girlfriend, how about getting me a bowl, pooh?"

"You can't have ice cream – you already brushed your teeth," she muttered.

"I'll brush them again," he said. "Don't worry, pooh, nothing's more important to me than a nice big smile. C'mon, pumpkin pie, I got a real craving for ice cream. Just a small bowl for your loving Mr. J?"

Harley sighed and put down the book. "Ok, I'll be right back."

She left the room, and Joker grabbed the book, went over to the window, opened it, and tossed it outside. He gathered up all the sheets of paper and did the same, then hid the calculator under his pillow. He climbed back into bed just as she returned with a bowl of ice cream.

"Thanks, dollface, you're the greatest," he said, kissing her cheek as she handed it to him and got back into bed. She looked around.

"Where's the book, Mr. J?" she demanded.

"What book?" he asked casually.

"My scrapbook with all our jobs in it. Where did you put it?" she snapped, growing angry.

"Don't know what you mean, pooh," he said, licking the spoon.

"Yes, you do, you lying bastard!" she shrieked, turning on him furiously. "This isn't funny, Mr. J! You're not going to cheat me outta what I rightfully deserve!"

In response, he flicked a spoonful of ice cream in her face. "You got ice cream on your nose, pooh bear," he said, grinning. "Let me get it off for you."

He leaned forward to lick her nose, and she punched him in the jaw. Then she seized his face in her hands and devoured his mouth, shoving him down onto the bed and sending ice cream flying everywhere.

"Harley baby, you will do something for Daddy, won't you, pumpkin?" he murmured in between kisses.

"Anything you want, puddin', you know that," she breathed.

"You'll drop all this stupid strike nonsense, won't you, pooh?" he whispered. "You're right, it ain't funny. It doesn't make Daddy smile. You wouldn't want Daddy J to be upset, would you, pumpkin pie? You wouldn't want to put a frown on his face, would you?"

Harley paused. "When I said anything, I meant anything in bed, not anything anything, Mr. J. I don't really wanna talk about this now. I ain't in my employee role," she whispered, grinning as she returned to his mouth.

"Yeah, see, the thing about that is, pooh," he murmured. "It's that you ain't my employee. It would be really stupid to pay you for something you'd do anyway, see? And you would do it anyway, pooh, because as my girlfriend you love helping out your adoring Mr. J. There's no point to actually employing you to do a job you'd do anyway, y'see? So stop being a silly baby and just open wide for Daddy."

Harley gently pushed him away. "I ain't gonna be your slave, Mr. J," she murmured.

"Oh, but you are my slave, Harley baby," he whispered, licking ice cream off her cheek. "And you really enjoy being Daddy J's slave, don't you, pumpkin pie?"

"In bed, yeah," agreed Harley. "But I have got a sense of pride, Mr. J, and I don't want people thinking I'm some dumb blonde you can take advantage of because I'm ain't got self-esteem enough to stick up for myself. I don't want people thinking just because I'll do anything for you, I ain't got no self-respect. It's not true, Mr. J."

"Aw, pumpkin, when have you ever cared what people thought about you?" he murmured.

"Not people in general, Mr. J," she murmured, gazing at him. "You. I just need to know that you respect me enough to treat me fairly. And I don't mean stop the abuse and the fighting and all that stuff, because I enjoy that. But just to let me know in a very basic way that you value me at least as much as you value everyone else."

"I don't value you as much as everyone else, Harley," he murmured, touching her cheek gently.

"You don't?" she breathed, hopefully.

"No. I value you a lot less!" he retorted, growing angry. "You don't demand things from me, you dumb blonde, you take what you're given and be damn grateful for it! That's the way we work – that's the way we've always worked! I have the power to make you do anything I want, and you do it without question and without protest! Now stop all this striking silliness or I'll beat your face in, get me?!"

"But puddin', as your employee…"

"As your employer, I'm telling you to shut your face!" he interrupted.

"Well, you ain't my employer if you don't pay me, so you don't have the authority to tell me what to do!" she snapped. "I don't have to shut up if I don't wanna! I don't have to do anything if I don't wanna!"

They had seperated and were now glaring at each other across the bed. This continued for some moments until Joker said, "So you wanna do this or not?"

"Yeah," she retorted. "But as your girlfriend, not your employee. I'm dropping this for tonight, but it ain't over, Mr. J, you hear me? I'm gonna find that book, and I'm gonna make you pay every cent you owe me."

"Whatever. Just shut the hell up and come here," he muttered.

She glared at him but obeyed. "God, I hate you sometimes, Harley," he growled, pushing her down on the bed.

"Yeah, I hate you too, Mr. J," she muttered. "Now shut up and kiss me already."


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Harley strode into the kitchen and placed a piece of paper down in front of Joker, who had been enjoying a bowl of chocolatey cereal. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, studying it.

"It's an itemized invoice," she retorted, sitting down across from him. "For services rendered. That's how much you owe me from all the jobs we've ever pulled, plus interest for the delay in payment."

He glanced at the total and his eyes popped. "Jesus Christ! What are you trying to do, bankrupt me?!"

"If you'd paid me at the time, maybe it wouldn't be such an expensive blow," retorted Harley, helping herself to some toast. "As your employee, I must demand an immediate payment or my strike will continue over today's job. As your girlfriend, how did you sleep, puddin'?" she asked, draping herself over him and kissing his cheek.

"Harley, I'm not paying you this," he snapped, crumpling up the invoice. "I've told you to stop this silliness, and I mean it. It wasn't funny to begin with, and the joke's really starting to get old now. So why don't you just get dressed and ready to go before the guys arrive?"

"I ain't going, Mr. J," she retorted, firmly, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm on strike. You'll have to do this job without me."

"You're going to do what I tell you, you worthless dame!" he growled. "Or I'll pound your face into the wall until your skull splits! And don't think I won't enjoy it!"

"Go ahead and do that, then," retorted Harley. "I'm on strike, this is a peaceful protest, and I ain't moving."

"The hell you ain't!" he shouted, standing up and grabbing her by the hair and pulling her off the chair. He dragged her down the hall by her pigtails as she shrieked and struggled, then threw her into the bedroom. "When I come back, you'd better be dressed and ready to go, or I'll beat you senseless!" he shouted, slamming the door.

Harley rubbed her head tenderly, making a face at the door. "Gandhi never had to put up with this crap," she muttered, heading over to her closet. "Course he didn't have no hair neither."

She pulled on her costume, muttering, "If Mr. J thinks he can force me into doing this job today, he's got another think coming. He can't make me hench, he can't make me do anything I don't wanna do."

She nodded firmly to herself and went to go put on her makeup. "The dumb jerk," she muttered. "He's gotta be the worst boss in the whole wide world! 'Harley, do this!' 'Harley, catch that!' 'Harley, distract the Bat while I get away!'" she said, mimicking Joker's voice. "And do I get a dime of cash money for any of that? No. Just more stupid orders in his stupid, grating voice: 'Harley, shoot him!' 'Harley, break that down!' 'Harley…'"

"Harley," came Joker's voice from the doorway. She turned to see him glaring at her. "The guys are here," he snapped. "Come to the car."

"I told you, Mr. J, I'm on strike," retorted Harley. "I ain't coming any…"

But he seized her by one of the points of her hat and dragged her out of the bathroom. He grabbed her other point and hissed into her face, "This is my last warning about this strike crap. You stop it now, or it won't be funny. Got it?!"

"Yes, sir," muttered Harley.

"And if either of us has a stupid, grating voice, it's you, you useless broad! 'I'm on strike, Mistah J, 'cause I'm a dumb blonde who's too thick to know how good I've got it being with a great guy like Mistah J, who treats me lots better than a worthless little mook like me deserves!' Now get in the car, you waste of space!"

"I don't sound like that!" snapped Harley.

"Well, I don't sound like what would happen if that guy from _Star Wars_ went crazy!" snapped Joker.

"Yeah, you do," muttered Harley as they walked out to the car.

"Yeah, I kinda do," he agreed. "But you did a crap impression."

He shoved her into the driver's seat and then went around to the passenger's seat. He slammed the door and looked at her expectantly. She folded her arms across her chest and looked back.

"Drive," he growled.

"I'm on strike, Mr. J," she retorted firmly. "Whaddya going to do about it? You can't make me drive the car, can you?"

"I can make it so aren't able to drive the car for a long time!" he shouted. "Now do it, you dumb blonde!"

She shook her head. Joker's fury grew. He struck her across the face, grabbed her arm, and dragged her into the passenger seat while he took the driver's seat.

"If we weren't on a tight schedule, I'd give you such a beating," he growled, backing the car out of the driveway. "But I'll save that pleasure for when we get home."

Harley rubbed her cheek, glaring at him as they drove in silence. "You ok, Harley?" asked Rocco, one of the Joker's regular henchmen who took a fatherly interest in Harley.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Roc," she retorted. "You have to expect some pain if you're going to try to fight the power. Taking on the Man has never been easy, but it's not going to stop me standing up for the rights of the workers."

"Would you stop talking like that?" shouted Joker. "I am not the Man!"

"No, you certainly ain't much of one," agreed Harley. "And I sure as heck ain't buying you that 'World's Greatest Boss' mug I was gonna get you for Christmas."

"Harley believes she's being treated unfairly because she doesn't get paid for doing these jobs the way you guys do," explained Joker.

"Isn't she your girlfriend?" asked Rocco, puzzled.

"Not for long," muttered Joker.

"So?" demanded Harley, ignoring Joker. "I'm still an employee! I deserve to be treated like one!"

"But you get special treatment anyway, Harley," replied Rocco. "I wouldn't have expected you to get paid like us because you ain't like us. I mean, we're hired guns so we do these jobs for the money. But I always thought you did them out of love."

"Thank you, Roc, it's not an unreasonable assumption, is it?" retorted Joker.

"I admit I probably should have drawn up a contract or something when I started working for Mr. J," retorted Harley. "But that don't mean he can keep taking advantage of my love to make me do things for free. It ain't right."

"So what you're saying is that money is worth more to you than my affection?" demanded Joker.

"I'm saying I don't equate the two in any way," retorted Harley. "And neither should you."

"Why not?" he demanded. "If you've got one, you don't even need the other! Money can't buy you love and all that jazz! That's in a song so it must be true!"

Harley glared at him. "You've certainly got a very high opinion of yourself, Mr. J, if you think the several hundred thousand dollars you owe me is equal to any romantic performance of yours. Cause it ain't."

"That's not what you were saying last night," he muttered.

"Yeah, I said a lot of stuff I didn't mean last night," she snapped. "Including I want you to keep screwing me!"

He struck her across the face again. "You watch your mouth in front of the guys, you dumb broad!" he shouted.

Tears came to Harley's eyes. "You know what else I said last night that I didn't mean, Mr. J?" she demanded. "I said…I love you!"

And she burst into tears. Joker ignored her, fixing his eyes on the road. Rocco sat back in awkward silence with the rest of the henchmen.

They arrived at the bank and Joker got out of the car with the henchmen. "Are you coming in or staying here?" he demanded of Harley.

Harley shrugged. "I don't know. What do you want me to do?"

"Stay in the goddamn car," he growled. "We may need to get away fast."

He slammed the door in her face. Harley glared at him until he disappeared into the bank, then opened the door and climbed out of the car. "You ain't my employer – I don't have to follow your orders," she muttered, looking around.

There was a jewelry store across the street, and Harley went over to it. "Might as well do some browsing," she said, looking in at the diamonds in the window. "Get some ideas for what I'm gonna spend all my money on when I get it."

She entered the shop. "May I help…" began the shop assistant, but his jaw dropped when he saw who his customer was. His surprise instantly turned to panic and he popped open the cash register.

"There you go, take whatever you want!" he exclaimed. "Just don't hurt me!"

Harley instantly grew angry. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. "You think I can't pay just like everyone else? You think I don't got any money because I'm Mr. J's dumb slave and I work for free? Is that what you're implying?"

"Um…no," he stammered. "I just thought…you being a criminal…you probably didn't want to buy anything…"

"That doesn't mean I can't afford anything though, does it?" she demanded. "I do a job, I get paid for it, buddy! I got self-respect, y'know!"

"Yeah…sure," he stammered. Harley glared at him, then looked at the diamond necklaces on display in the counter.

"I like that one," she snapped, pointing. "And I'll be back with money to pay for it, you wait and see!"

She stormed from the shop just in time to see the Batmobile pull up in front of the bank. "Good," she snorted. "The dumb jerk deserves a beating from Batsy. And I wanna see it."

She followed Batman inside the bank, unnoticed by him. The henchmen noticed Batman almost immediately and rushed to attack him. He began dealing with them fairly soundly, beating them down and punching them back. Joker noticed Harley standing in the doorway and shouted, "Harley, Bat, now!"

She folded her arms across her chest again. "I'm on strike, Mr. J," she retorted, firmly.

"Harley, if you don't pick up something and make it collide with Batman's skull in the next three seconds, I swear to God I'll break every last bone in your body!" he shouted.

Harley was going to respond when Batman knocked out the last henchman and then turned to confront Harley. "You can come quietly, Quinn, or I'm taking you down," he said.

"Hey, I'm on strike, Bats!" snapped Harley. "I don't got nothing to do with any of this!"

"You're an accessory to crime, and I'm bringing you in," he retorted.

"An…accessory?" repeated Harley, astonished. Then she grew angry. "I'm not an accessory, I'm a goddamn employee! And I'm a damn good one too!" she shrieked, kicking Batman across the face. "And I deserve equal pay for equal work, you oppressive bourgeoius creep! Workers unite!"

She punched him twice more, then kicked him backwards into the marble counter of the bank, knocking him unconscious. "Laissez-faire bastard," she muttered. "Always trying to oppress the masses."

"Well done, Harley, you've saved yourself a beating," growled Joker. "Now save yourself another one and help me load this loot into the car, since the guys are out of it."

Harley glared at him. "You deaf and stupid, Mr. J?! Strike, get it?! Unless that loot is to pay me what you owe me!"

"I've told you I don't owe you a cent, you dumb bitch!" he shouted.

"Then get the loot into the car yourself, you capitalist pig!" she shouted. "I got the Bat outta the way for you, which I'm going to charge you for, by the way! You should be competent enough to do at least one thing on your own! I ain't lifting another finger until I get paid!"

And she sat down on the counter and began filing her nails. Joker's hands were clenched into fists, he was literally shaking with rage, but reason nevertheless asserted itself. He could beat Harley into a pulp, but then he'd still have to load all the money into the car himself. It wasn't a stalemate as such, but the only way to get what he wanted was to compromise. He hated that word, but it was the only option at the moment. He'd reassert his dominanace the moment they got home, he assured himself.

"All right. C'mere," he muttered, beckoning her. They went down into the bank's vault together, and Joker began counting through wads of cash, throwing it into a corner. "There," he snapped, gesturing to it. "That's what the invoice was for, wasn't it?"

"And six cents," retorted Harley.

"Who cares about six cents?" he growled.

"I do," she retorted. "I said I wanted every cent you owe me. Give me six of them."

Joker glared at her, but reached into his pocket and counted out six cents, flinging it at her face. "Now you gonna come help me load it into the car?" he demanded.

Harley nodded. "My pile first," she said.

"My pile first," he growled.

Harley shrugged. "I'll strike again," she said lightly.

Joker's jaw tightened and his lip twitched. "All right," he growled, shoving the cash into bags. "But if you're going to demand a change in our relationship, then so am I. If you're my employee, you're going to start paying me rent for living in my house. You're going to start having to pay for food, clothes, bills, those kinda things."

"That ain't fair," snapped Harley. "I'm your girlfriend – I'd be living with you anyway."

"Yeah, just like you'd be doing jobs for me anyway!" he snapped. "But if you can make unreasonable demands then so can I! You think I like you taking advantage of my generous nature by letting you stay with me for free? How worthless do you think that makes me feel, huh, Harl?!"

"That's totally different, Mr. J!" she shrieked.

"No, it ain't, you dumb blonde!" he shouted. "And if you can't see that, you're stupider than I thought!"

"This is about you treating me fairly, Mr. J!" she shouted. "Like everyone else!"

"Yeah, but you ain't like everyone else, Harley!" he yelled. "And I thought you'd be happy about that!"

"What, happy that you treat me worse than everyone else?!" she demanded. "How can I even believe you love me when you won't even give me basic respect?!"

"I don't love you, you little brat!" he shouted. "Get that through your thick skull, all right?! I don't love you!"

Tears sprang to Harley's eyes. She opened her mouth to reply when Joker suddenly shouted, "Stay outta this, Bats, we're trying to have a domestic!"

The next second, Harley felt a blow to her skull and fell to the ground, gasping in pain. But unexpectedly, as she looked up, she realized that the blow had come not from Joker, but from Batman. Joker was staring at her with a strange expression on his face, which suddenly turned to rage as he looked up at Batman.

"You don't hit her," Joker hissed. "Nobody hits her but me."

"I'm not hitting her to get some perverse pleasure out of it," retorted Batman. "I'm just trying to neutralize her."

"You scared of a girl, Batsy?" Joker demanded.

"Not scared," retorted Batman. "It's nothing to do with fear. But she is a threat, and I'm going to neutralize her."

He reached down to handcuff her, but at that moment, Joker suddenly punched Batman in the face.

"You ain't gonna touch her!" he shouted, stepping protectively in front of her. "You pick on someone your own size, Bats! Harley's mine, my little punching bag, and I won't have other guys beating her up or handcuffing her! That's my job!"

Batman started forward and Joker hit him again. Harley watched them fight in astonishment, the slow realization that they were fighting over her gradually beginning to sink in. She felt a strange, warm glow as she saw the hatred in Mr. J's eyes, beating his nemesis mercilessly all because he had hurt her. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done.

Batman struck Joker a blow that sent him flying into the wall. Joker slowly rose to his feet, suddenly chuckling maniacally. "What's so funny?" demanded Batman.

"I was just thinking about the bomb," laughed Joker. "And how it's going to blow all those innocent hostages I've got tied upstairs to smithereens! It's a real joke on them – they probably think the danger's past. They're going to be in for a surprise, but they probably won't have time to enjoy it, considering their brains will soon be all over town!"

He laughed hysterically and Batman immediately raced for the stairs. Joker stopped laughing as his face dropped. "C'mon," he growled, shoving a bag of cash into Harley's hands and then picking her up like a child and running for the exit.

"How long until the bomb goes off?" asked Harley as they raced upstairs.

"About sixty seconds," he retorted. "Give or take."

"You sure know how to keep things exciting, Mr. J," replied Harley, leaning lovingly against his chest.

"I do my best," he replied, grinning. "Anyway, what's the point of life without a little risk? I'm not the kinda man who plays it safe, kiddo."

"That's why I love you, Mr. J," she breathed, kissing him.

They got outside just in time – a second later the bank went up in a blaze of fire and smoke. They turned to watch it burn.

"You think Bats got the hostages out?" asked Harley. "And the guys?"

"He's Batman," retorted Joker. "I'm sure he saved everyone. That's usually what he does. Anyway, sorry about the loot, kid. I think your share has kinda gone up in flames."

Harley shrugged. "It's only money, Mr. J. There are more important things, y'know."

She gazed up at him adoringly. He looked down at her. "So you're gonna stop all this striking over salary nonsense?" he asked.

"It was to prove a point, Mr. J," she murmured. "And you proved it. I love you, puddin'."

He shook his head slowly. "Nah, you're right, Harl. You did a good job today, and you should get paid for it, same as everyone else. How does ten percent of what's in the bag sound?"

"Ten percent?" she repeated. "I think I'm worth a little more than that."

"Twenty?"

"I was thinking more fifty fifty, Mr. J."

"What, like equals? We ain't equals, Harley. You start getting ideas like that and I'll dump you like a dead body. Thirty seventy is my final offer."

Harley smiled at him. "Tell ya what, puddin'. You don't pay me nothing, but just pick up something for me, would ya?"

He grinned and kissed her. "Anything for my little henchwench," he replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Mr. Paul Timm, of Timm and Dini Jewelers, told whoever would listen the strange story of the day the Joker and Harley Quinn patronized his shop. Harley Quinn had come in first, been very angry, got offended over him offering her the money in the cash register, and had promised to return with money later to purchase a diamond necklace, as nonsensical as all that sounded. Then there had been the unpleasantness at the bank – it was the day Batman had saved all those hostages, as well as the Joker's own henchmen, from the bomb he had planted, but the Joker and Harley Quinn had got away. Or at least, Batman thought they had. Where they had actually gone after the explosion at the bank was across the street to Mr. Timm's shop. Mr. Timm swore he had never seen a more affectionate or loving couple – for all people talked about them as being insane and abusive, Mr. Timm could only confirm that when he had seen them, they had looked as happy as any other couple in love.

"That's the one, puddin'!" Harley had said, pointing to the necklace in the counter. "That's the one I want!"

"If that's the one you want, baby, that's the one you get," replied Joker, smiling at her. He then smiled at Mr. Timm, who had never been more terrified in his life. His terror grew when Joker reached into his jacket. Mr. Timm was sure he was going to pull out a gun, and shut his eyes, fearing the worst. He was astonished when the Joker instead pulled out his wallet.

"How much for that necklace, my good man?" asked Joker.

"Um…that one is…um…" stammered Mr. Timm.

"Hey, calm down, kid," said Joker, smiling at him. "I ain't gonna hurt you – I'm just buying a present for my little henchwench here. Ain't she just a peach?" he murmured, tilting her chin up and kissing her. "Anyway, can't think of a good joke for a dead jeweller, and I don't kill people unless it's funny, y'know," he said, turning back to Mr. Timm. "Now how much for the rocks?"

"That one is…five thousand dollars," murmured Mr. Timm.

Joker whistled. "My doll's got expensive taste," he said, grinning at her. He opened up his wallet and drew out a stack of bills, which he placed on the counter. "If I give you another couple bucks can you wrap it up and make it all pretty for her? Maybe throw in some glitter and that kinda crap?"

"Aw, Mr. J, you're the greatest!" purred Harley, kissing his cheek. "Ain't he just the greatest?" she asked Mr. Timm, beaming.

"Oh…yeah," stammered Mr. Timm. "Yeah, sure, I'll just…um…wrap that for you."

It was the most surreal moment of his life, wrapping a necklace while a convicted homicidal maniac and his insane girlfriend looked on, chatting just like a normal couple. The Joker asked Mr. Timm some questions about where he was from and how he had ended up working in a jeweler's in Gotham. Strangely there was nothing sinister about it – it could have been any other customer, in fact, he was a lot nicer than most of the customers he had to serve, but for the fact that it was the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, and the most dangerous lunatic in the world. When he was done wrapping, the Joker paid what was owed, and then he and Harley thanked him very much, wished him the best, and left the shop, hand in hand. Mr. Timm never saw them again, but he told the story of how he had served the Joker and Harley Quinn to anyone he could until the day he died.

No one ever believed he was telling the truth.

**The End**


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